So, ya’ll, it’s been a while. Â Rest assured, I probably am not coming back to blogging regularly, or even semi-regularly, or anything even remotely close to regular. What I am doing is sharing with you a story. A story of hilarity.

So, a Â few weeks ago I finally gave up the ol’ Buick and bought myself a shiny new (kind of) Prius. Â I loved the idea of getting awesome gas mileage. Also I loved the idea of having hatchback. Also I loved the idea of holding it over everyone else’s heads that my car is nice to the earth and theirs is busy flipping off Mother Earth. Â Things happen. Whatever.

So, The Republi-Dad is taking care of getting me tags (don’t ask. Long story.) and I asked the dealership to kindly send the title to The Republi-Dad, promising that they wouldn’t have to talk to his crazy … self. Â So here we are, 10 days til my temporary tag expires and The Republi-Dad has not recieved a title. I go in and check on it with the dealership, they were WONDERFULLY nice, saying Â ”Oh, looks like it was sent out the 5th of the month!” I naturally assume The Republi-Dad lost it on his table-o-mail (trust me guys, this thing is amazing…YEARS of mail on this table.)

I text him and say “it should be there, they sent it the 5th. Check your table.”

OH MAN, INTERNET. That was a mistake. This is when the stuff hit the fan. THE STUFF. FAN. HARD. BLOWING EVERYWHERE.

The Republi-Dad calls me after work with fire in his eyes (ears? mouth? we were on the phone and all.) Then for 15 minutes, I swear to you, FIF-TEE-NUH MI-NU-TESSSSSSSS, he goes on and on about how this is a conspiracy. That the dealer is just messing with us. That the car doesn’t even have a title. That we will take it back and get our money back. That we will send the credit union after them. Seriously. 15 minutes of this. Â It mostly included a lot of me saying “yeah.” “ok.” Sure, Republi-Dad.”

So drop in at the dealership again and they are again, absolutely wonderful, starting the process on the duplicate title while I was standing there, telling me that if for some reason I wasn’t able to get the tags in time they’d put me in a courtesy car, that they were personally going to send a runner to the house of the previous owners to get the papers signed. Seriously, this place could not have done any more for me. Â I think I will bake them cookies (LOOK! IT IS ABOUT COOKING!). Â Anyway. I mentioned to them the conspiracy. Then we all had a hearty laugh.

Republi-Dad actually lives in a house with Abbie Hoffman and that is where this all comes from.

Dear Republi-Dad,

It’s not a conspiracy. Â No one would involve a Prius in a conspiracy. I promise.

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